


Radio Static

by enygmashow



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Other, more tags to come as upd8s come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enygmashow/pseuds/enygmashow
Summary: The static of our radio is a song in itself, much like my voice. It's meaning is a conundrum that only you, the listener, can crack. Then, you will know.Welcome to Night Vale.





	Radio Static

**Author's Note:**

> The Voice of Edward Nygma (Broadcast 1)

**EDWARD:** Here we are, alive and eternal, awaiting for infinity's end. Waiting, and waiting. Knowing that the date is set. Then, we shall know. We shall know, then.

Welcome to Nightvale.

 

Good evening, adoring listeners.

As your days draw to a close, the static from your radio wavering towards the more irritatingly dull noise that isn’t even allowed to be white noise, allow my voice to step in. Coaxing you to listen and take a breath, or two, or none, or all. Take a moment, or none. Take your time, and absorb your surroundings. Literally, or metaphorically. I genuinely do not care, so long as it is my voice your undivided attention is on as you become the space around you. Or doesn’t. Yet again, I couldn’t care less.

And now, the news.

The Night Vale Community Event Association has announced the opening of a new corn maze for the season! Opening today, citizens are invited to head outside of town to sixty acres of nothing but corn and elaborate paths leading both somewhere, nowhere, and everywhere.

Still, if you cannot find the maze, take a moment to realize how ironic your situation. Laugh at yourself, and your pathetic situation.

Now head east.

No, east. Your other east.

Yes, there we go-- Wait. Too far east. Where are you going? Get back here.

Ugh. Here. Look. To your right.

Your other right.

Oh my god.

Fine, okay. Get lost. Wander among the streets, edging towards the desert surrounding are peaceful community, and ask the wastes where the corn maze is! See where that gets you. Just know, that when you see corn, you are there.

When there is corn, you are there.

A friendly reminder from the Sheriff’s Secret Police; Please stop barking at anyone who you assume to be fugitives from the law. We don’t know where the assumption came that barking at unknown fugitives would alert the Sheriff’s Secret Police, but it is only a myth sparked on the Facebook group “Facebook Mom Nightvale Mythology United. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.” We don’t know why this group would come up with such mythology like this, but it is currently under investigation as we speak. Until we get more answers, please keep all barking to yourself. Thank you.

 

And now, a word from our sponsors.

How has your day been? Yes, you. I am talking to you. No, not you. I don’t like you. No--

Yes.

_You._

How has your day been, oh you? Oh? Well that’s interesting. I didn’t know you got that promotion, good job you! I am so proud of you. You know who else is proud of you? The Faceless Old Woman Who Lives In Your Home. You know what she wants, as celebration of you? Fancy, overpriced makeup to use on every mirror and window in your house. A shade of red is requested as priority, and any other shade just won't do.

Where else to buy overpriced makeup to smear on your reflective surfaces, than Sephora?

New sale this weekend! Buy two shades of red, get the third for triple the price! All with a complementary vial of blood from someone you may or may not know.

This message has been brought to you by the Faceless Old Woman Who Lives In Your Home, and Sephora.

Update on the corn maze story. I sent Intern Mark out to see for himself how the said corn maze is like. I personally cannot leave the studio until I feel as if my show has done its job in spreading information to the public. It’s a pity, too. As much as I adore you, dear listeners, I just simply love mazes more. Shamefully true. It’s not you, it’s me.

Anyway. I have just been informed by Intern Mark that there is no more corn. There was supposedly corn to begin with, but now there is none. The acres lay, bare with only signs that corn once was there, empty and crying out for corn. Who has stolen all the corn? The bastard. Those bastards. Return the corn at once, you hooligans. For the sake of mazes, and the maizes.

 

_[A soft, muffled laugh is heard.]_

 

Mmm. Anyway. Residents are still invited to the 60 acre lot of would-be corn to pay twenty dollars to wander about the roped off area for an absurd amount of hours out of your day, as if it were a maze. An invisible maze that one can walk through, with walls that you can also walk through, and no known solution. If you have any information on where the corn is, however, please call in as soon as possible. Thank you.

Viewers, let’s take a moment to talk about the air. The air you breathe, that is breathed through your body and your lungs crave every seconds of the day. The air you will, literally, die without ingesting. Is air a drug? Are we being drugged via the air we breathe? Have you done a drug test on the air? Please, someone do a drug test on the air, I am not quite sure why I enjoy breathing so much for the past, say, week? Two weeks? It’s just so natural, it shouldn’t be thought about!

 

_[He takes a deep breath, and sighs.]_

 

...Okay, by chance it might not be the air. It may just be the people breathing the air. One person, specifically:

Bruce Wayne.

He moved here a while ago, from some distant city called Gotham. I don’t know what Gotham is, nor do I care, because our fair city is far nicer than any other city. I love our city, and I love the people that come from Night Vale. However, Bruce Wayne is just…

He’s so…. _Perfect._  I never thought I’d be able to use that word to describe a man before. I’ve used other words, grim ones used fondly to express affections and feelings I loved to feel.

I haven’t felt this way in ages. It took me by surprise, too.

Originally, I did not care much about Mister Wayne when he showed up to our city. His science was cute, but I had only heard about him. I sent Mark to interview him, and my oh my, does Bruce have oh so many questions about Night Vale. I thought it was cute, in some looking down at a dumb animal trying threaten you kind of way. I didn’t think he was much, no. Who the hell is Bruce Wayne? Why should I care?

I had these questions answered when he called a meeting at town hall to discuss something about Night Vale.

The moment I saw his face, I felt my body screaming at me. Melting slowly as it shrieked in some bizarre form of astonishment. I was knocked down, flat, gravity suddenly very relevant as I felt so winded just by his face. Just his face! He didn’t even say a word, he just looked over the crowd, and we stared at each other for such a brief second that I might as well consider his glace a fast acting poison, little to no major dosage needed for it to kill you from the inside. His face was a cute bottle, encouraging the oblivious to indulge in such poisons that seemed so pretty. Hidden behind a pretty face.

And my god, _his face._ Sculpted perfection, yet scarred so subtly. A small bit by his lip, another small scar by his brow. He had a few, hidden by the collar of his shirt and the pristine white lab coat he wore. His skin was light, pale, kissed by the night sky. His hair was black, such a deep black, parted nicely and styled in a way that makes it seem so light and soft. And his eyes-- piercing glassy eyes, such a shade of blue where you could barely tell where the sclera ends and the iris begins. His stare, with such determination and authority, such _passion._ I may love air now, listeners, but air did not know me for that moment.

Did I mention that local scientist Bruce Wayne is really built well? He’s tall, he looks strong and worn out, but still ready for more. And all I could keep remembering, all I keep picturing is the passionate look in his eye as he prepared to say---

He--- _God!_ I don’t even remember what he wanted to address! I had to leave, I thought I was dying and I wouldn’t have been surprised.

But now, I know who Bruce Wayne is. I know why I should care.

Because, he is _flawless._ Never before have I seen a man so pristine as he, as determined as he looked, as good as _Bruce Wayne._

_[A long, love struck sigh.]_

I can only hope now, listeners. That we both will continue breathing in air long enough for us to meet again. I long for that day, endlessly.

Let us move on to traffic, now.

The highway was just closed down recently, due to reported ghost cars. If you see any car that may be semi-transparent, glowing faintly, driverless, driverfull, having three heads, having any heads, having no heads, or with the rear lights out, please report it to the Highway Police immediately.

If your car begins exhibiting these symptoms, then congratulations! You own a ghost car. You may also be a ghost yourself, so please, go to your local Doctor to check up on your current state of living, and whether or not you and your car should pass on together to the highway in the metaphorical afterlife place.

More news about the corn, listeners. We have found the missing corn, and it is everywhere.

Slowly, the corn is spreading downtown, sprouting around and sometimes even inside of buildings as it spreads like some infectious disease. As I speak, it is growing through the sidewalk outside of the studio. Mark, Mark and Mark are trying to resolve the situation, and keep the corn from entering the studio as it would make things too overbearing for me to focus on anything else by corn. Right now it’s actually distracting. I am absolutely mesmerized by this corn infestation, and it is difficult to look away.

Elsewhere in town, the corn takes to the highways, crowding in and around buildings as citizens struggle to figure out what to do with it. Reports have come in, stating that one of our local psychiatrist, Jonathan Crane, has emerged from the library with a giant scythe. Witnesses say he was all too happy using that gigantic weapon of his, cutting down dozens of corn stalks at a time as he cleared the stairs leading to the library. He brought the corn into the library for some reason, then walked back out to continue the process of clearing the path so that citizens can get into the library, corn or not.

Pamela Isley (y’know, the Bonitist?) has been trying to solve the corn problem, as it interferes with whatever she has going on in that lab of hers. Multiple chemicals have been used, and now the corn has ears. Literal ears. I am unaware as to how she gave the corn ears, but I am no man of science. I simply exist, to report about corn.

Sorry. I report on other things. It’s just that the corn got inside now. It’s actually sprouting really close now. The booth is slowly getting surrounded by corn, and I have absolutely no idea what to say. I also don’t know where Mark, Mark, or Mark have gone. Mark is here with me, though. He has a match and some aerosol. He should really use a lighter instead. The match isn’t going to work, Mark. Mark---

Oh dear.

Listeners, Mark has set himself on fire. He is not really helping himself with putting it out. Also, there is corn.

The corn is also on fire. Hm.

I should probably be more concerned about this, but I am just so entranced by this corn! I have no idea why, but I cannot look away from the masses of corn in front of me. Slowly becoming masses of corn in front of me, featuring fire. Mark, corn does not put out fires. Mark---

 

Oh. Oh no.

 

This has become quite a situation here, listeners. So, from these ears to yours, I give you:

 

[ **The Weather.** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK5aUqCRzJ4)

  


Update on the corn. The corn is gone, I repeat, the corn is gone. It has retreated into the ground and sprouted up in masses in specific locations, being by Pamela Isley (Y’know, the Bonitist?) and her greenhouses, and in front of the Library to be cut down and dragged away by the Good Doctor himself. The situation quickly was resolved, and the presumably sentient ears of corn have become no more.

The corn maze bas been shut down and promptly taken over. The area mapped out for it, that is. No signs of life, or signs that the corn was even planted in the first place, however there is signs of a nice profit from admissions! Good job, everyone. Glad the corn maze was a hit, despite the minor flaws.

Oh, and casualties. About three people have died due to corn related deaths.

One of those people is not Mark. Mark is fine! Just a bit toasty. Like a big ol marshmallow. I have Mark cleaning him up and performing first aid in the meantime.

Tonight has been eventful, dear listeners. And while the unwanted ears have left our station, your ears remain locked on. Hopefully, they are not made of corn. Hopefully, you are not made of corn. Hopefully.

We can only remain hopeful as to what the day brings us. And as it comes to a close, we wait for the next, prepared and strong for the challenges ahead. But until then, we rest.

 

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.  


* * *

  
  


 

**_FHM BSEN QR SZLG SLQ BMFMZNQMJ_ **

  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope this format isnt confusing, but im mimicing how the transcripts are written in the book! this work will be multiple chapters long, and flip between life and broadcast. differenciation will be in the notes at the start!


End file.
